


Low Winter Sun

by adoctoraday



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Thor (Marvel), Boys In Love, Fuck Canon, Grief/Mourning, Loki (Marvel) Lives, Loki and Thor Are Not Related, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Scars, Seiðr, Sibling Incest, Soft Loki, Sweet Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel) Has PTSD, Thor grieves, Top Loki (Marvel), but not really, canon? We don’t know that bitch, mentions of switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 01:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoctoraday/pseuds/adoctoraday
Summary: Thor weeps for all he has lost, all that his people have lost, and everything he has yet to lose in this long lonely life of his.“Come now brother, it can’t be all that bad.”His tears stop as abruptly as his heart does and when he lifts his head it takes an age—for what if the voice is not tied to a body? What if he’s finally gone mad?“Loki?”





	Low Winter Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing this ship and I hope you all like it!! The song “House of Cards” by Caitlyn Smith was the inspiration behind this fic and I hope you give it a listen to get a feel for it! Kudos and comments are life, and so SO appreciated.

Thor weaves slightly as he stumbles out of the house he shares with Meek and Korg, a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand while the other shoots out to steady his ungainly drunken stride.

He turns away from New Asgard and climbs the hill, puffing and out of breath when he reaches the summit. He stands and stares at the place he had last seen his father, where his hammer had been destroyed, where the path he and Loki had been on for millennia together had diverged once more.

His bare feet shuffle through the moon wet grass, drops of dew cool and slick on his soles as he traces the now familiar path to the remains of his hammer.

They lie in a pile where they had crumbled under Hela’s grip and though he’s come to stare at them many times in the last five years, he can’t find it within himself to move them.

He’d rather they lie here as some silent testament to his losses than carry them around in his pocket. They already weigh him down, having them with him always would only drag him further beneath the murky depths of his grief.

The uru gleams in the light of the moon and he stares at it for a long moment, remembering the way it had shattered in his grip, how he had never felt terror like that before in his long, long life.

He stumbles away, cursing when he trips on a rock and sways for a moment before righting himself and heading for the rock outcropping he had shared with his father and brother before Hela had broken loose and destroyed his home and everything he knew about himself.

He sinks down heavily, the weight around his middle still unusual to him, though not troublesome. He’d gone into battle against Thanos thusly and had prevailed; his figure is of little concern to him in the grand scheme of things.

He has lived for fifteen hundred odd years and has changed and grown; he’s lost his eye and his hair and gained them both back—in time he’ll be different again, perhaps rigidly muscular as he once was, perhaps softer with more curves.

It matters little in comparison to the knowledge that he will spend those years alone.

His family is dead, his friends broken and lost, so what does the shape of his body matter in the face of unspeakable tragedy?

His head hurts from these musings so he lifts the bottle in his fist to his mouth and swallows deeply, dribbles of whiskey trailing down from the corners of his mouth to wet his beard. Inhaling deeply, he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and belches, wrinkling his nose at the stench of sour breath and whiskey.

It’s been...too many days since he showered, and though part of him longs for a bath like he would take on Asgard, the small bathroom and meager home he lives in now have none of the luxuries he was used to for so long.

He ignores his scent for now and swallows down more whiskey, leaning back to tilt his head and stare up at the stars. His father’s spirit had joined their mother’s in Valhalla, and though he’s longed for that release too, he knows deep into his bones it will be many years yet till he is free of the torments of the flesh.

His head swims and he closes his eyes, falling back with a soft thump against the stone, dizzy and heartsick. Distantly he can hear the waves crashing against the cliffs, and beneath him he can feel the Earth moving, its undulation through the vastness of space as endless as time.

The winter winds have just started to blow, cool and damp and promising snow while the last of the leaves cling desperately to the trees, their fallen brethren crunching beneath feet, the air scented heavily with petrichor and decomposition, pine sap and salt breezes.

It takes him back to a time when he was young and carefree, when he and Loki would ride out of the city together and hunt for days at a time, warming themselves by the fire and eating their kills to fill their bellies.

His eyes spring open and he stares at the swirling cosmos above, recalling a time when he and Loki had laid together beneath other stars, different than these and whispered their hopes and dreams to each other.

It was so long ago, so innocent and hopeful and naive.

What he wouldn’t give to have it back.

Tears blur his vision and as he cries, he wonders why he always breaks when he sees the stars.

With the burden of restraint removed, he weeps freely, rolling up to hunch over his knees, his sobs muffled by the hand he claps over his mouth. Thor weeps for all he has lost, all that his people have lost, and everything he has yet to lose in this long lonely life of his.

“Come now brother, it can’t be all _that_ bad.”

His tears stop as abruptly as his heart does and when he lifts his head it takes an age—for what if the voice is not tied to a body? What if he’s _finally_ gone mad?

When his bleary gaze lifts his heart jolts, for there, just a few feet away amid the glowing moonlight, is Loki.

His brother smiles softly, the breeze tossing his hair and Thor—he should not, but he does—hopes. He hopes that this is real, and not madness or an illusion, because if it is either he fears he will never recover.

“_Loki_?”

His voice is low and raw, wet still with tears and painfully hopeful.

Loki smiles again, “None other,” he agrees playfully and Thor rises, sways and takes two halting steps forward before hesitating, heart thundering in his chest as he stares at Loki, scared to touch him and find him no more than an illusion, gossamer silk that will wisp away in the wind.

His hand trembles as it reaches out, halting a fraction of a breath away from Loki’s chest and he fancies he can feel the heat of Loki’s body and it’s that that pulls him in. His palm presses into solid flesh and he sobs, chest heaving with each hiccoughing breath he takes.

Knees collapsing from under him, he sinks down into the wet grass, arms winding around Loki’s waist, his forehead pressing into leather, the familiar scent of Loki filling his nose.

He weeps tears of joy and rage and sorrow, emotions a riot and distantly he hears thunder roll and rumble across the waves, a flash of lightning close behind.

Loki’s slim fingers work into his hair and stroke his scalp gently, his voice low as he speaks once more. “Brother, come now, I’m here, please, cease the storms and let me see your face.”

Thor sniffles and wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, eyes bleary when he finally looks up to where Loki looms over him, the wind tossing his hair while storm clouds roll in behind him. He takes slow, steadying breaths while Loki strokes his cheek, a sad, fond look in his eyes.

Thor can’t help but lean into the touch, shuddering at the cool touch of Loki’s fingertips across his face, tracing the new lines there, the scars of battle and the grief that lies heavily beneath his eyes in dark circles.

“The years have not been kind to you brother, have they?”

It’s asked softly, but Thor can hear the concern in Loki’s voice and nods weakly, suddenly ashamed of his tears and his ungraceful collapse to his knees as though he is a mere child and not a blooded warrior thousands of times over.

Fingers tilt his chin up and Thor meets Loki’s gaze for the first time and finds it achingly sad, despite the smile that graces his lips. “Nor have they to me,” Loki admits and his image wavers for a moment and Thor fears that it truly was an illusion, before it slides away like mist on a breeze and the man standing before him leaves him gaping stupidly.

Loki’s hair is streaked with white at his temple and his hand rests on a cane, not for show it seems because his hand trembles where it clasps the wrought steel handle, and when Thor looks closer he can see weakness in the way he stands, as though he’s barely able to hold himself upright.

He is gaunt and pale, paler than usual, and Thor rises to his feet a moment later to guide Loki to the rock outcropping with gentle hands. He expects Loki to push him away, to scold him for assuming Loki needs help or some such other insult, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans into the arm Thor has around his waist and sighs softly, as though relieved. They sit together, shoulders brushing and Thor hesitates for a moment before laying his hand on his thigh, turning it palm up so it’s apparent what he wishes, hopes, for.

Loki doesn’t take it, not at first, though he leans a little heavier into Thor with a sigh, the hand on his cane flexing for a moment and Thor wonders if he’s in pain, if there’s something he can do to ease the pain for his brother.

Loki sighs again and lifts his hand from his cane, fingers opening and closing into a fist with a wince. “Extended exposure in a low oxygen environment like space does have interesting effects on the body,” he comments mildly, turning his electric gaze onto Thor.

Thor reaches out, hand lifting from his thigh cautiously, extending it and turning toward his brother, heart leaping when Loki allows him to take the hand and turn it over, inspect it with careful touches and gentle fingers.

He presses lightly on the scars around Loki’s wrist and frowns when his brother hisses in pain, though he doesn’t pull away—a good sign, Thor thinks.

“After Thanos destroyed our ship, I was floating, my seiðr being used to keep me alive, when a scavenger ship came by and pulled me aboard.” He swallows hard and smiles thinly, “I was...barely alive. My throat had been crushed by that mad creature and had I remained lost, I would have perished.”

Thor makes a wounded sound low in his throat and acts without thinking, lifting Loki’s wrist and pressing a kiss to the thin, scarred skin there. Loki inhales sharply but remains still and when Thor looks up at him he finds his brother gazing at him with something that looks like amazement in his crystalline gaze.

Loki’s fingers curl and slip, pushing the long ragged strands of hair hanging around his face back. “I healed for many weeks, sleeping while my seiðr restored my throat and kept the worst of the damage to my brain from advancing.”

Thor stares, entranced as Loki’s shaking fingers trace the bones beneath his skin, speaking softer now. “I was given a choice when I woke—serve with the crew or be sold as a slave.”

Thor growls at this—that someone would try to put his brother in chains and call him a slave. “You are a prince of Asgard, how dare—”

“They did no more than our father did, than _you_ did,” Loki reminds him, voice harsh for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head, “I was arrogant brother, I thought I could bargain with my life and was sold into slavery. I was sent to a place not dissimilar to Saakar and traded many times over.”

He lifts his hand from Thor’s grip and tugs aside the collar of his tunic, revealing a series of tattoos along the column of his throat that continue below the fabric and for a moment, breathless and dizzy, Thor considers pulling it off and finding out just how far down the thick black lines go.

Loki’s hand slips away from his collar and down into his lap to lie limply; “Some of my owners were kind,” he admits, “though they all controlled my powers for their own gain and kept me locked away.”

He sighs and Thor chances twining their hands together, smiling softly when Loki does little more than rub his thumb over Thor’s knuckles and sigh.

“The last…” he pauses, looking away, eyes distant and unhappy. “He did not like my refusal to murder at his whim nor when he tried to lie with me against my will. He had me beaten and shackled and left to rot,” Loki says blankly, voice cool and distant.

Thor swallows his rage and squeezes his brother’s hand, smiling faintly when Loki’s shimmering gaze turns to his. “I am sorry,” he murmurs, “that you have endured so much.”

He ducks his head in shame, “I should have searched for you after the Titan left. I did not,” his breath catches and his throat grows thick, “I did not think your body had form anymore. So many were destroyed by the power of the stones,” he whispers, tears on his cheeks once more.

“I failed you,” he sobs out, turning back in a rush to grab Loki’s arm with his free hand, his gaze wild and anxious, “I’m sorry brother, I failed you so many times, please, _please_ don’t go.”

Loki’s eyes are wide and shocked, and then he too is cracking, shattering apart. Fine tremors quake his thin limbs, a wet, rasping gasp rattles his chest as he careens into Thor, one fine, trembling hand twisting through his matted locks.

They press together, brow to brow, Loki’s skin cool against his own, their breath mingling together as they cry, matching salt stains of grief on their cheeks.

Thor can’t remember the last time they were this close, this intimately joined where breath mingles and blood races and hearts beat as one. Not since childhood, when they were inseparable and the best of friends, surely.

Loki is of course the first to pull back, only a few mere inches, his smile soft and sad. Long thin fingers brush the wetness from Thor’s face, trailing over his cheeks, dragging through the rough hairs of his beard with a low chuckle and an amused little smile.

“You’re badly in need of a trim brother,” he teases gently, tugging on the hairs so Thor smiles and nods in agreement. Loki casts a speculative eye around the clearing for a moment before smirking, “I suppose I can make do here,” he murmurs.

Thor has a moment to wonder what he means before Loki leans away and then rises to his feet, grasping his cane tightly as he steps forward, hand outstretched as though feeling for something unseen. His brow furrows as he steps forward slowly, lips parting around a soft uneven breath, lines around his eyes betraying the pain he’s in.

Long minutes pass in near silence before Loki makes a soft sound of pleasure and his seiðr flows forth to carpet the ground before him. The earth bucks and heaves, cracking open to belch forth steam and sulfur, the rend in the ground growing with each passing moment till it’s the size of a large bathing pool.

Loki glances over at Thor and his stomach lurches at the grey pallor to his face. He’s on his feet and at his brother’s side in moments, holding him up as he sways.

“Come Thor, use your power to bring life to the seeds within the ground,” Loki murmurs tiredly, waving a hand toward the earth beneath their feet. Thor has rarely if ever used his powers of fertility, and to do so now requires a concentration he's not sure he can maintain.

He calls Stormbreaker to him and watches Loki’s eyes widen at the sight of the axe, his thin form trembling for a moment before he steadies himself and reaches out with shaky fingers to trace the markings on the uru.

Thor remains still while Loki inspects it; he can feel Loki’s seiðr, testing the weapon and shivers, for it feels as though the seiðr is touching _him_ too, delicate soft tendrils winding around his body. It’s sensual and strange and he shudders when it ends and Loki turns wide eyes to him.

“This weapon is far more powerful than Mjolnir or Gungnir,” he murmurs, “I can hardly believe such a thing exists.” He studies Thor for a moment, brow furrowed. “Where did you get it?”

Thor swallows, remembering the pain he’d endured to gain his axe. “Nidavellir,” he answers softly, “Eitri and I harnessed the power of the star and forged it.”

Loki hums softly, nodding as his gaze lingers on the axe once more. “Very well, let us continue,” he murmurs, reaching out to twine his fingers with Thor’s free hand. “I’ll need to channel your strength to suffuse my own powers,” he explains at Thor’s surprised look.

Nodding, Thor tightens his grip on the haft of Stormbreaker and closes his eyes, reaching deep within himself to summon the powers he’s never used. His skin grows hot and tight as the power trickles into his veins and he smells wet earth and pine needles and the musk of sex and growing things.

His cock stirs between his legs and he growls as the power surges forth, hot and heady and demanding.

“Guide it Thor, tell it where to go,” Loki’s voice murmurs low in his ear and he nods, opening his eyes to see where he’s directing his power. Seedlings in the ground split open at his direction, hundreds of years of growth rushed forth in a mere breath—the earth cracks open once more and sproutling trees bloom and grow, tall sturdy rowan, willowy birches and sharply scented pines.

Stone rises to the surface at Loki’s bidding and creates a platform around the pool while the stone within shifts to create a series of steps and ledges for sitting and reclining on. At a soft squeeze of Loki’s fingers around his and a murmur of his name, Thor lets the power fade, gasping as it slips from beneath his skin like water flowing from a wine skin.

He’s abruptly weak and exhausted and Loki too looks inches from collapsing so he winds an arm around his waist and holds them both up as they sway in the breeze. Loki makes a twisting gesture and their clothes vanish, leaving both naked under the pale moon.

Thor guides them to the pool of steaming water and steps in carefully before turning and offering his hand to Loki. His brother stares at it for a moment before taking it and allowing Thor to help him into the sulfur spring, limbs shaking from exhaustion.

They slump together, side by side, heads resting back against the mossy earth, the scent of ferns and moss and dirt strong in the air. For a time they say nothing, floating beside each other as the breeze filters through the trees.

Loki is a pale slip of moonlight beside his own golden flesh, hair like midnight, stained by the stars and the marks across his flesh that Thor can make out through the wavering of the water speak to unimaginable pain.

He’s not sure if they’re all from his time as a slave or if they came after his fall from the rainbow bridge, but his hands ache to trace them, to know who dared harm a prince of Asgard, to soothe the pain his brother must feel from the deepest of them.

Loki’s eyes open and meet his, unfathomable and bright. He sighs and shakes his head, “I can hear you thinking brother, what troubles your mind?” he asks softly.

Thor lifts his hand from the water and traces the marks he can see on Loki’s shoulder, “Who did this to you?” he asks, voice low and uneven.

Loki sighs and shifts under his touch, restless for a moment before he glances aside and speaks. “Thanos and his creatures were cruel in their persuasion,” he murmurs, “They took the anger and jealousy in my heart and warped it until it festered into hate and madness.”

Thor feels the tension in his body and lets his hand fall away, fingertips trailing down Loki’s torso before it comes to rest in his own lap. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “that I didn’t catch you.”

Loki scoffs lightly and glances up at him through his lashes, “You would have been lost too had you tried.”

Thor shrugs and runs a wet hand over his mouth, “But then you would not have been alone. I could have tried harder,” he says quietly, throat pinched and raw, “I could have cared more about you and been a better brother.”

His brother sighs and shakes his head, twisting to face him, one lean arm braced at the edge of the pool so his whipcord muscles flex and Thor’s gaze lingers there for a moment before slipping away, a flush of heat rising on his cheeks.

“We were victims of our own worst impulses Thor. You craved glory and admiration and wanted to earn father’s praise and you didn’t care if it came at the expense of my standing in our family.”

Loki’s words cut like the knives he’d mastered as a child, but Thor isn’t foolish enough to think them untrue. He’s become well acquainted with his flaws in the years he thought Loki dead—though it stings nonetheless to hear them said aloud.

“And I…” Loki sighs and scrubs a hand over his face tiredly, “I was jealous of the love and praise father bestowed on you so easily. My power was seen by many as womanly and weak—my lack of brute force strength and proclivity for using seiðr on the battlefield won me few admirers.”

Thor nods unhappily because he was one of the many who called Loki’s seiðr mere _tricks_ and gave little regard to his brother’s skill and wit and tender heart hidden safely behind sharp words and sharper knives.

“But the men we were is not who we are now,” Loki murmurs, lifting a hand from the water to display his scars, mouth twisted in a moue of displeasure. Thor reaches out and wraps thick fingers around the slight bones of his wrist, pulling gently so Loki’s palm is turned up.

His brother watches as he lowers his head and presses his lips to his palm and then the scars at his wrist, and then Loki’s hand twists and cups his cheek, lifting his chin so the tears in his eyes are visible.

Grief wracks him at the pain they have caused each other and the pain the world has seen fit to make them endure. Loki’s eyes shimmer too, throat working as he strokes the marks beneath Thor’s eye where Hela’s sword took his eye.

“No,” Thor murmurs before turning his chin to place another kiss to Loki’s palm, “we are not.”

Loki smiles softly, sadly, and runs his fingers through Thor’s beard, nails scratching gently, and Thor shivers, aching want slipping through his veins.

“A trim, now, I think,” Loki murmurs, mouth curling into a soft smile. He shifts and waves a hand and tools appear on the stone ledge beside them, ready to be used and gleaming in the moonlight.

Loki bids him to wet his hair and he does, slipping beneath the water to soak it, and when he surfaces he spits a small stream at his brother’s face, laughing in delight when Loki grimaces good naturedly and conjures a spout of water of his own that douses Thor in freezing water.

They shift so Loki sits behind him, knees braced on either side of his torso as he leans back, eyes falling shut as Loki begins working out his braids. He feels it when Loki pauses, the braid of his dark hair twined into Thor’s once more.

“You lost your hair on Sakaar, where—?”

“Aboard the ship. While you slept.”

Loki hums softly and undoes that braid too, setting aside the lock of his hair before he pours out warmly scented soap and begins to work it into the matted and dirty strands of Thor’s hair.

He groans at the familiar sensation—it’s been years since Loki deigned to do this for him but it’s easy to slip back into the feeling, the comfort and love his brother gives so begrudgingly. His long fingers are still strong, rubbing at Thor’s scalp, nails scraping so he shivers and sighs, skin pimpling with goosebumps.

Loki rinses his hair and washes it again till it’s soft and silky against his shoulders, scented warmly with pine and smoke and bergamot. His brother’s fingers massage his neck and shoulders for a time before he nudges him—a silent bid to turn around.

Thor rearranges himself and then remains still while Loki washes his face and beard, fingers carding through it gently over and over again. Soon he takes an onyx handled pair of shears in hand and begins trimming his beard back till the longest of the hair is gone.

A razor blade appears in his hand and Loki’s eyes glimmer with amusement, “Lift your throat,” he murmurs, waiting till Thor obeys to swipe shaving cream Loki has conjured across the taut lines of his neck.

There is no tremor in his hand as he works; the steady slick sound of the blade sliding over his throat is repetitive and soothing and soon Thor’s eyes are at half mast along with his cock.

A warm cloth wipes down his face and thin, cool fingers swipe a dab of cream from his lips and he opens his eyes to smile at Loki, his murmured words of thanks pressing into Loki’s fingers. His brother smiles in return, eyes soft before he leans down and kisses Thor, hesitant and sweet.

Relief floods Thor—he’d worried that he had lost not just his brother but the man he loved. If Loki hadn’t wanted him like this anymore it would have broken his heart, but he would never demand anything of his brother he was not willing to give freely.

Loki’s lips are cool against his; his tongue flicks and teases, drawing Thor in deeper. A hand cradles his jaw like he’s something precious and it leaves a lump in his throat he can barely breathe around.

His hands slide up the slick length of Loki’s thighs, thumbs caressing the soft skin of his inner hip as he leans deeper into his brother, chest aching from lack of air, the burn pleasant in his veins.

They slide apart with a slick sound and Loki presses his brow to Thor’s again, running his fingers through his damp golden locks. “A trim here as well?” he muses, smiling when Thor nods and chases his lips for another kiss.

Loki indulges him a little longer before he pushes Thor away and moves him so his back is against Loki’s bony knees. Thor’s eyes fall shut as Loki snips and cuts, the weight of his hair and perhaps some of his grief falling away slowly.

Loki hums a little while later, cards his fingers through his hair and scratches his scalp gently. “I’ve finished, would you like to see?” he asks softly, hands resting on Thor’s shoulders.

Thor shakes his head and tilts it back, smiling upside down at his brother. “I’m sure you did a fine job,” he murmurs lightly, reaching up to trace Loki’s jaw, droplets of water pattering down into his face.

Loki snorts and smiles fondly, “You are foolish to trust so easily,” he says, words lined with bitterness.

Curling his fingers around Loki’s jaw he rubs his thumb under his chin, gaze intent on where their skin meets, golden and ivory pressed together in the glow of the moonlight.

“Is it foolish to trust the one you love?” he asks in response, meeting Loki’s crystalline green gaze with his. A flush rises on Loki’s cheeks at his open declaration of love but he doesn’t pull away, instead he rolls his eyes fondly and leans down to kiss Thor again.

“Fool,” he murmurs softly, though Thor can feel the way his lips are curved in a gentle smile.

“For you,” Thor agrees, smiling too.

Loki snorts and rolls his eyes again but says nothing—though the gentle press of his lips and tongue speak volumes. Loki’s hand slips from where it’s been twined in his locks to curl around his throat, a gentle presence that’s not restraining, but reassuring.

Thor sinks into the warm embrace and sighs softly as Loki’s thumb caresses the wet skin of his throat, gentle and slow, over and over again. His lips tingle and bruise and still Loki kisses him, till they’re both breathless and Thor’s cock stands at attention beneath the water.

He twists away eventually, shoulders pressing Loki’s thighs apart as he slides between them, slick and clean and warm. His brother sits so most of his torso is outside the water, his Jotun blood needing respite from the heat of the pool.

He presses forward till Loki’s cock slides against his chest, Thor’s hands sliding up the cool expanse of his back, pulling him closer as he leans up for yet more kisses. Loki’s hands slide over his shoulders in return, nails dragging lightly against his skin and Thor shudders at the pleasant sensation.

“What do you want?” Loki murmurs against his lips, cool green eyes clear as the sky when he pulls back to gaze at Thor.

Thor swallows hard and then leans in to hide his face in Loki’s throat, cheeks flushed with need, a yearning deep inside him making him weak with desire, but hesitant to speak.

Loki’s fingers tangle in his hair, hushing him softly, “No need for embarrassment love,” he whispers, “it’s you and I and no one else.”

Thor sighs and kisses Loki’s throat, licking away the water from his cool skin.

“I want you to have me,” he whispers, feeling it when Loki shivers at his words.

His brother pulls back and tilts Thor’s chin up so he can see his smile, “Then have you I shall,” he agrees, pupils wide and dark.

Thor shivers at the promise in his brother’s voice, the ache within him growing hotter and heavier, harder to bear. Loki shifts and guides him till he’s standing on the ledge beside him, cock standing proud in the cool air.

A thin finger trails up his hot, slick skin and dances around the slit of his cock, the sudden rush of pleasure leaving Thor’s knees weak. Loki grasps one of his broad thighs and smirks, “Steady brother, we’ve only yet begun,” he teases gently.

Before Thor has a chance to retort Loki leans forward and licks the head of his cock before opening his mouth wider, letting it slide past his lips easily. Thor groans and wavers again; this time Loki grabs his hips and braces him before sliding further down his cock in a smooth slide that leaves Thor shaking.

He watches through barely open eyes as Loki takes him deep into his throat, tongue sliding along his length, hot and slick and perfect. His hand lifts and then hovers over Loki’s head, hesitating to grasp his head. Loki glances up and nods minutely, humming in agreement, and the vibration nearly makes his knees buckle.

Thor tried to temper his grip, gasping and moaning as Loki swallows around his cock where it’s slid deep into his throat. He whimpers as his brother slides back and sucks on the head of his cock, tongue pressing firmly into the slit, hand stroking the remaining length of his cock—shiny with spit and precum.

_Please, Loki_, he gasps, hips bucking forward minutely. His brother pulls off and he hisses at the cold air on his sensitive skin, watching in earnest as Loki kitten licks down the length of his shaft before sucking first one ball and then the other into his mouth.

Loki pulls away with a wet _pop_ that brings heat to Thor’s face, the matching stain on his brother’s cheeks arousing and familiar(arousing because it is familiar and long thought lost forever).

“I had almost forgotten your taste brother,” Loki murmurs hoarsely, smirking as he leans back in to swallow down Thor’s cock once more. This time he slides his hands back from Thor’s hips to cup his ass, fingers spread wide to pull it apart and Thor shivers at the cool air on his hole.

Loki must feel it because he grins, lips spread wide around the bulk of Thor’s cock, blush pink and stretched, and Thor moans at the sight, unable to stop himself from tracing the edge of Loki’s mouth with his thumb.

Loki’s fingers delve between his cheeks, suddenly slick and warm, pressing at his hole and he shouts, hips bucking as he comes unexpectedly. Loki takes it in stride and sucks him clean, panting as he pulls back, lips slick and shiny.

Thor shivers and swipes a drop of his cum from Loki’s chin, offering it on his thumb to his brother, groaning when Loki sucks the appendage clean—just as he did Thor’s cock. His cock isn’t yet soft—he is a god, after all—and when he glances further down he sees his brother’s cock is hard yet too.

Loki places a kiss to his hip and pushes on his hole, teeth nipping at his skin as he’s breached and left gasping, stars in his eyes. He tries to blink them away but more burst to life as Loki’s fingers sink into him, the slow burn warm in his belly.

He cups Loki’s cheek as his brother fucks him slowly, gradually spreading his fingers till he’s loose enough for a third. There’s never a dearth of slick—Loki’s seiðr provides all they need and more.

His brother has always liked opening him up slow; watching him writhe and moan and grow slowly wetter with each passing moment. He recalls more than one time that Loki had started with his mouth, and then slicked his fingers and worked him open, lingering on his prostate for hours, milking his cock till he was hoarse from crying out.

Loki is gentle now, fingers brushing that spot inside him, kissing his hip and thigh and stomach as he quakes and moans, gasping with each passing touch that feels like his own lightning is being used against him.

The slide of Loki’s fingers inside him is unbearably good; his cock drips with each push of his fingers against his prostate, shivering heat under his skin and Loki’s name on his lips.

_Please_ he begs, _more_.

Loki hums and takes his cock between his lips, sucking lightly at the head and Thor shouts, breath sobbing in his chest as his brother swallows him down. He fists a hand in Loki’s hair and pulls him back long minutes later, gasping unevenly.

“I-I would spill again with you inside me,” he pants out, sweating and shaking and desperate.

Loki nods and smiles softly at him, fingers smiling from inside his brother as he tugs behind Thor’s knees to bring him down once more. He guides Thor to lay back on the mossy ledge surrounding the pool and spreads his legs, pushing between them as he rises from the water, dripping and pale in the moonlight—looking every inch the god he is.

There are a myriad of scars across Loki’s chest, pale and silvery in the night and Thor frowns, reaching out to brush his fingers over the worst of them. Loki captures his fingers and lifts them, brushing a kiss over his own scarred knuckles and warmth of a different kind fills Thor’s chest.

His brother leans down and kisses him softly, hand braced in his broad chest, Thor’s heart beating steadily beneath his palm. Long black hair curtains his face and he can smell the gold and cedar and ozone of Loki’s seiðr and he chases it with his tongue, wishing he could live on the scent alone.

Loki hums against his lips, content as Thor wraps his arms around his brother and pulls him closer, kissing languidly as they tangle together. They have little need for air as mortals do, but eventually they part, gasping and red lipped, smiling at each other dazedly.

Loki slides back and angles Thor’s hips so his cock nudges at his hole, the ring of muscle lax as he pushes forward slowly. Thor moans lowly, spine arching as he pushes his hips down, gasping as Loki slides deeper into him. His cock is thick and long, and Thor knows Loki has surprised many a past lover with what lies between his legs.

When they had begun this—whatever _this_ is—he had feared letting his brother inside him, feared being unable to take him as easily as it seemed Loki took _his_ cock. But Loki had been kind and patient, letting him come around to the idea slowly.

In most other aspects he knows his brother has little patience for him, but in this, Loki has always been a patient lover. It seems that the years apart have not changed that because now, Loki pauses once he’s fully seated, letting Thor adjust to the unfamiliar bulk inside him.

He leans down and kisses Thor lightly, lips curved up into a gentle smile. “Breathe dearest brother,” he croons, “you have taken more than this before.”

Thor flushes at the memory—Loki had teased him about his love of his cock and made light that they should use Loki’s seiðr to provide him with all the cock he desired. What had followed had been two full days of Thor being taken in every way possible by his brother and his clones until he was limp, satisfied and smiling.

Loki rolls his hips and Thor is jolted from the memory, gasping as his thick length spears him open, fire racing up his spine as Loki thrusts again, and again. Loki’s trembling fingers tighten on Thor’s hips, nails biting into his skin as they moan in tandem, the slick sound of Loki’s cock inside him leaving him dizzy.

“I have missed that sound,” Loki gasps, rolling his hips harder to elicit another moan, and in the distance thunder rumbles. Clouds gather overhead as Loki takes him apart, inch by inch till he’s shaking and moaning his brother’s name to the sky.

Lightning cracks across the sky and a cool rain falls as Loki’s fingers find Thor’s nipples, larger and more sensitive than before. Thor cries out, voice lost amid a roll of thunder as Loki pinches and twists them, pleasure burning in his belly.

“That’s it brother, let them all hear how you are loved,” Loki rasps, grunting begins gritted teeth as he fucks harder into Thor. He hitches Thor’s thigh higher and bends him nearly in half, pushing deeper still into his yielding body, his cries sharp and high as Loki’s finger and cock take him apart.

Tears roll down his face and mingle with the rain and his lips taste like fresh cool water and salt. He digs his fingers into the earth and curses as Loki takes him, unaware of everything but his brother’s voice and hands and cock.

A hand wraps around his cock while the other toys with his nipples, switching sides so he’s never given reprieve from the pleasure and he sobs, arching into it as Loki takes him with long hard strokes.

When he comes lightning blazes and thunder booms so loudly it shakes the very earth beneath them and Thor shouts his pleasure to the sky, voice hoarse and raw as Loki plunged into him, again and again.

His eyes peel open and he watches Loki above him, brow gleaming with sweat, the muscular planes of his chest scarred and shining with droplets of rain. His brother’s brow is furrowed in concentration, lips parted around moans of Thor’s name, and when Thor reaches out to touch his face, Loki’s gaze meets his, bright and wanting and beautiful.

“Come brother, please,” he murmurs, gasping breathlessly as Loki moans and thrusts harder, tilting his chin to press sloppy kisses to Thor’s palm, teeth nipping and then biting down as he comes, a nearly pained look of bliss on his face.

Loki’s breath is hot and wet against Thor’s hand as his thrusts slow and then taper away, the hot spill of his seed inside Thor comforting and familiar. He slumps down and back, slipping out of Thor with a regretful moan, legs shaking with exhaustion.

Thor lays there for long minutes as he catches his breath and then sits up, wincing at the familiar dull ache of muscles well used inside him. He’ll never complain of it again, he thinks, not now that he has Loki back.

He slides back into the water with Loki and pulls him into his lap, large fingers rubbing the tight muscle of his legs, easing away the tremors and the fine lines of pain on his brother’s face. He pressed kisses to Loki’s throat, soft and gentle.

“I didn’t know you were in pain,” he murmurs, “you should have said.”

Loki hums and turns his chin to press his lips to Thor’s brow. “To see you like that again, to have you as I did before,” he swallows hard, sounding overcome, “I would endure the worst pain for that.”

Thor’s throat grows thick and he nods, kisses Loki’s collarbone and whispers, “As would i to keep you.” His broad hands hold Loki, but he’ll never use them to hurt his brother again, nor keep him where he does not want to be.

Loki makes a small sound and then another and Thor realizes it is the sound of weeping and pulls his brother closer, holding him as tears run anew down his own cheeks.

It’s some time later that the silence between them is interrupted by Loki’s laughter and when he looks up to see why, he’s taken aback at the sight around them. The storms are long gone and the moon dips toward the horizon, the low winter sun just beginning to peek over the edge, turning the sky a pale cold blue.

But it is the ground around the pool that has drawn Loki’s attention, and now his, for there, where there was once only grass and stone and trees, is now a meadow of wildflowers, blooming too late in the year to survive the oncoming snows.

Loki grins and shakes his head, “You have no control over yourself brother, what _will_ the people think?” he teases. Thor has no answer to that—as Loki knew he would not—and only watches silently as Loki lifts a hand and sends a wave of sparkling gold and green seiðr over the flowers.

It disappears a moment later and Thor presses a kiss to the curve of Loki’s shoulder, “What have you done?” he asks curiously.

Loki turns to look over his chin at Thor, smiling wryly, “I have given them protection from the elements. They will thrive in every weather, and this place will be an oasis in the months to come.”

Thor hums, “That is a lovely idea,” he agrees, pressing another kiss to Loki’s scapula. “We shall have to spend the cold winter mornings here,” he murmurs, heart beating rapidly as he waits to see if Loki will agree, if he’ll stay.

His brother twists in his lap to stare into his eyes, thin, powerful fingers sliding over his wet skin, eyes curious and wary. “We shall,” he agrees softly, “We shall spend the rest of our days together, fighting side by side as it always should have been.”

Tears burn in Thor’s eyes but they do not fall, not till Loki kisses him again.

They will be together, forever.

As it always should have been. 


End file.
